Snowstorm
by nosmaeth
Summary: Aragorn learns about mountains, fears, and a darkness yet to come. (Set some days after he speaks with Lord Elrond about being in love with Arwen. One-shot. Strictly book-verse, featuring a minor OC.)


**AN: I owe huge thanks to Certh who was kind enough to beta-read this for me, and thus helped to make the story readable.**

**Angborn is my creation, all the other things you recognise, do not belong to me-obviously.**

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**Snowstorm**

Small fire burned persistently, flames dancing, biting hard into the darkness, almost thriving under the strong gusts of the cold wind. Two cloaked men sat around it, staring into the flames wordlessly. They wrapped their clothes tightly around themselves, resisting the cold bite of the mountains.  
"What happened?" asked the older one quietly and his voice was hoarse after the long silence.  
The other glanced at him, but averted his gaze quickly, silver eyes staring into the shifting shadows of the troubled forest that moaned wearily under the attack of the wind.  
He did not share thoughts easily.  
"When?" he asked finally, to gain some time to think, but it was a poor attempt, and his companion snorted dismissively.  
"Do not try to evade answering, Aragorn! You shall not manage!"  
His smile was slow and bitter. "I have been evading things all my life; first the wrath of Lord Elrond after some childish prank, and now the Enemy, which so far seems a good deal easier, mind you! I am more skilled than you think, I just might manage to outwit you!"  
"Decent try, laddie, but all your life is really not that much! Now out with it!" grumbled the other.  
"With what?" Aragorn raised his brows in mock challenge, but his elderly companion did not share his amusement.  
"Fool of a Chieftain, that is what you are, son of Arathorn. Alone against it all, that is how you like it, aye... Feeble-minded youngster."  
"Watch your tongue, Angborn!" Aragorn hissed angrily, but the mountains cooled his hot fury with the icy touch of the wind. "I might be young, old friend, but my choice to face perils alone is not due to stubborn pride, as you so evidently believe it to be!"  
Angborn's lips twitched with obvious amusement- he did not believe Aragorn would be so easy to rile. But a moment later his mirth was smothered by the younger man's sincerity.

"Become who you are meant to be, he said. You shall not bind any woman to you, until you are found worthy of it, he said." Aragorn spoke softly, more to himself than to Angborn, as if voicing his doubts could somehow ease his heart, as if the strong winds could carry away the heavy clouds that covered his soul."And I agreed." He cared not, whether his audience knew who "he" was, but the audience was no fool.  
"Do you have second thoughts? Would you rather turn from that path now?" asked Angborn as he took out his pipe and stuffed it with weed. The ceremony seemed to absorb all his attention, for he skilfully ignored Aragorn's lethal stare.  
"Never."  
"Then what troubles your tender heart, young one?"  
Lighting the pipe was also complicated business, but a swift, sideways glance informed him that Aragorn clenched his fists tightly, knuckles whitening. His eyes glinted with satisfaction: the young captain had much to learn, but he obviously was learning, for he did not rebuke his elder as he had done before. Even though being called "tender-hearted" was obviously not to his liking, he managed to keep himself calm and Angborn believed that to be the result of their two weeks of journeying together.  
"Just how do you accomplish those deeds?" Aragorn asked quietly. "A month ago my heart was overflowing with hope and courage, I was eager to do what is required of me... And now I despair, for I know not how to start on that journey. My vision is clouded."  
"So is the horizon. A snowstorm is coming." Angborn inhaled the delicious smoke as deeply as he could.

The chieftain's silver eyes glinted with cold fury caused by a sense of betrayal. He did not confide in anyone easily.  
"If you care not, ask not!" he hissed and rose in anger, which, he realized immediately, was a mistake. Their small fire was dying out already and the heat it provided did not reach far enough. Up there, where he stood now, all was cold and dark. He turned away angrily, his whole body shaking in the cruel, freezing night.  
Angborn inhaled deeply again and chuckled quietly. From the moment they agreed to travel together for awhile, he decided that his mission was to teach the young captain what he could. And since the boy had deep knowledge about all the skills required of a Ranger, he taught him skills required of a man: patience, humility, self-control. Also, he found that teaching them was rather amusing- all he had to do was to aim at his pride and do so repeatedly. Though he had to admit, pushing Aragorn to his limits was becoming more and more of a challenge, for the boy really did learn fast.

"I care for your heart, little one just as much I care about defeating the Enemy. So it happens that I will aid you in your duty. However," he groaned as he stretched his legs, "it would not do us any good to freeze now in the storm."  
He watched Aragorn's trembling shoulders quietly for a while, then added:  
"Addressing the matter at hand does not mean, you avert your gaze from your final destination. Now, if you want to know, how to start accomplishing those mighty deeds of yours, I can tell you. Bring some more firewood to keep us warm!"

The flames danced happily and confidently again since Aragorn returned wordlessly and fed them with torn, dried branches. They sat around the fire, resuming their former position once more.  
"We shall soon leave the forests behind and enter the realm of stones and cliffs and cruel winds. That is where the mountain will truly test your soul." Angborn started to speak softly, and Aragorn listened intently for he knew that whenever the old Ranger started to talk, it was wise to pay attention.  
"You do not yet know this, son of Arathorn, but when one climbs his way up to the passes, it is easy to lose direction. One either locks his gaze on the destination, the pass high above his head, and by doing so, misses the cleft in front of his feet; or one focuses his attention on next stone, the next cliff, finding the steady and sure path, and by doing so he strays from the original road."  
"So, how does one do it?" Aragorn asked, intrigued.  
"You find a steady place for your feet and then- but only then- you look up to see if the pass is still ahead."  
"But my aim in the end, is not the pass itself, but the other side of the mountain" the chieftain contradicted quietly and Angborn suppressed a fond smile.  
"Very true, son. But you can not see that, can you? Do not put your soul under so much strain, for aiming at something that is not yet there might prove too hard a task. Such is the heart of men- it shies away from the seemingly unreachable if small victories do not keep it fuelled."

Aragorn offered to take the first watch and when an hour later the snowflakes arrived, he got up and put some more wood into the small fire. He was prepared. And he smiled grimly for suddenly he understood, a bigger storm was about to come and he would have to be prepared for that too. Angborn lifted his head sleepily and Aragorn answered his questioning gaze: "Rhîw anglenna!"*  
The older Ranger wrapped his blankets more tightly around himself and moaned his reply already half-asleep:  
"Nay, son. It already is upon us. And it shall be a long one. Don't forget to feed the fire!"

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_*Winter is coming!_

_Angborn: ang=iron, born=red, hot. (His dark hair was said to possess an unusual red shade, a rarity amongst Númenoreans.)_

_All featured elvish is Sindarin. Hopefuly. :)_


End file.
